The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1887-06-02


more than all, moved by the old yet
ever new story of the martyrdom of the
dead soldier, so do our hearts give
forth mournful, yet sweet and exalted,
tribute to the memory of the dead. A
year ago tears fell over the same
graves. hearts throbbed at the same re-
eitals which are heard on every
Memorial Day. A year hence it will
be the same. The quick responsive
American heart, while it throbs. will
venerate Memorial Day with an in
cense of signs and tears.
How they so softly rest
All the holy dead"
The name of him who fills a soldiers
grave is holy to us now. He who left
home. wife or parents. rushing brave
ly. buoyantly and unquestioningly to
the call of his country, has borne the
pangs of martyrdom and shall he not,
too, bear the glory of it? 81 say unto
you, no man can do more than this
that he lay down his life for friend"
Down from the great Teacher of the
world came echoing these words which
place the soldier among the great of
the earth: he laid down his life for
home and country-he hath done what
he could.
1t does not seem a quarter of
century since they whose names con-
front US on marble tablets were
among us, fired with the earnestness
and valor of patriotism. Though not
remembered with the rancor of old,
those days will never be forgotten.
Babes yet unborn will, for generations,
be told the thrilling story of those
years. The women and children who
stayed at home waiting, with white
lips and palpitating hearts, for news
from the seat of war-these are the
ones upon whose hearts are engraved
memories which are indelible, and
which shall flow in the life-blood
of their children's children. Oh those
days Of waiting and wishing! Have
they ever, can they ever. be pictured
graphically enough? The rushing
about of trOOps-the recruiting offices,
with their constant excitement, the
preparations of supplies by willing
hands, the letters full of cheer from
the front, the waiting for the dreaded
newspaper after the battle, when the
long lists of killed, wounded and miss
ing were devoured with wide-eyed and
eXpectant horror. the dull, cold
anguish, only to be outlived by years,
which came when a loved name was
found in these fatal lists. viii the
children of those days ever forget
these things. or their children after
them? Even at this day, who can
hear the melancholy music of the fife
and drum without recalling the SOL
dier's funeral, the muffied drum, the
dead march, the brave hero coffined in
his uniform; dead, perhaps, with a
bullet in his breast, while leading an
assault, or, sadder still. dead among
strangers, far from home, after long
days of suffering. The pathos of it is
enough to soften hearts of adamant.
Family, family. did the robe of sable,
the vail of Grape, express the unspeak-
able woe which, black and crushing,
fell upon happy hearts in those
troublous times.
Many reminders of the old war days
are about me. Occasionally one may
see upon some old man, who is perhaps
proud of it, an army overcoat, with
its long, dangling skirt of blue, its !
cap and government brass buttons.
That coat is sacred as the mantle of
Elijah, and he who can view that hon
ored garment unmoved is callous, in |
deed. Nearly every home in the land |
has its souvenir of the war, rendered |
precious by the memory of its possess
or. Reverently and lovingly us were |
the Lares and Penates of old, are these |
relics enshrined in places of honor and |
pointed to with tender pride. Some
times it is a sword of the newly-fedged |
young Officer; sometimes canteen, a |
knapsack or tattered flag. Or per-
haps a portrait of "boy in blue"
hangs over the fireplace, and the Wis
llOT III IuC nOuSelOlu lnuSU near the |
story of his brave young life told in
fearful reverence by those who loved |
him. With such reminders as these in
half of the homes of our land, think
you that Memorial Day will ever be-
come an empty name? Think you
these graves, and o, how many there
are! will be left ungarlanded on this
day7 Think you the time can come
when the soldiers grave will not be
hallowed ground? No; as God and
the Right liveth. No! Rather do we
wish that these frail. ephemeral bios
SONS, sweet as they are delicate, might
defy the laws of nature and, glorified
by their mission of marking a soldiers
grave, might bloom forever; immor-
telles, un shrlvelled, unfaded, undying,
up perpetual perfume en-
blematic of the unselfish, undaunted
patriotism of a soldiers heart.
The most pathetic feature of Mem
orial Day, however, is not the hang
ing of wreaths and emblems upon the
lofty monuments which mark the rest